Complicated
by loveadubdub
Summary: It's complicated. Honestly, this isn't really how he envisioned life after high school. He always thought he'd be like in college or something, going to parties and studying for psychology midterms or something. He didn't really picture himself working at a strip club and living in a cheap apartment with his girlfriend. And her girlfriend... BRAMTANA


**COMPLICATED**

…

It's complicated.

Honestly, this isn't really how he envisioned life after high school. He always thought he'd be like in college or something, going to parties and studying for psychology midterms or something. He didn't really picture himself working at a strip club and living in a cheap apartment with his girlfriend. And _her _girlfriend.

It shouldn't work, but it does. Maybe they don't have any choice but to _make _it work, so they just do. Brittany's in the middle, and she's what makes them both happy. They both make _her _happy, so it's just what they have to do. He knows people judge him, but he doesn't care. It's not their business. His living situation doesn't affect them, so they shouldn't concern themselves. But he knows plenty of people do.

They're in Chicago because this is where Brittany wanted to come. She said she wanted to dance, and Mike was dancing in Chicago. So she needed to go to Chicago. He would have followed her anywhere basically. He applied to three colleges and got rejection letters from all of them, so it was either follow Brittany or go home to his parents. He chose Brittany.

Santana came later. He should have known it would happen, but he didn't want to. She came back and said she wanted Brittany. She said Brittany _belonged _to her. She loved her first, and "no boy" could compete with that. He knows he should have stood up for himself, given some kind of ultimatum or something, but he didn't. He let it happen. He let Brittany fall back in love with Santana because a part of him knew it was true. He couldn't compete with it. But Brittany loved him, too, and she told Santana that. She said she needed them both, and somehow they were both desperate enough to let her have them.

But now he's used to it. They've been living together for more than a year now. It's a crappy apartment in a not so great neighborhood, but it's not the worst. There are two bedrooms- one for him and one for Santana. Brittany just goes wherever she chooses. It's not like they're on some set schedule or something- they're not Sister Wives. They just let her decide where she wants to be and when she wants to be there.

He has to pay most of the bills. Brittany does random dance performances when she can find auditions, but Chicago isn't like the dance capital of the world or anything. She teaches ballet to little kids at this local studio and like sometimes hires herself out to choreograph for random cheerleading squads and dance teams, but nothing's really super steady. She doesn't have money coming in all the time, but she tries to do as much as she can.

Santana's in school. She's doing her last year, studying political science. She wants to like go to law school or something. Or at least that's what she says. He thinks part of her really wants to run off to New York or LA or something and try to do something totally different. But she says she wants to be "responsible"- whatever that means. She works a couple of nights a week at this bar where she gets to wear tiny little shorts and low cut tank tops and collect tips from horny middle-aged dudes who are drunk and yelling at whatever sporting event is on the big screen. She makes decent money, but it's still not like she's got a ton to contribute or anything.

So it's mostly up to him.

When he first got here, he tried waiting tables. Then he tried waiting tables _and _working at Abercrombie. He was literally working seven days a week- sometimes two jobs a day- and he still didn't have any money leftover after he paid the rent and all the bills and bought food. So he went with something solid.

Stripping's kind of addicting. It was addicting when he was sixteen, and it still kind of is. He's past any kind of embarrassment about it (although he still hasn't told his parents and has no plans to). But whatever. It is what it is. People can look down on it if they want, but he's not hurting anyone. It's his body, and it happens to be a good money-maker. So he can use it if he wants to. He makes way more money stripping than he ever did waiting tables or in retail- plus, it's way less hours and super less stress. He's gone for three or four hours and comes home with at least a couple hundred dollars every night. On a weekend, he can sometimes make like five-hundred. And since he's the one paying most of the bills, he needs to make as much as he can.

Anyway, he learned a long time ago that the people who judge him aren't the ones who matter anyway.

…

Brittany's the best. Like the best thing that ever happened to him.

That's the reason he does what he does. He'd do anything to make her happy, and he knows Santana would, too. That's part of what makes it work- they understand each other. And honestly, they kind of get along just fine. They wouldn't be able to live together if they didn't.

She comes in one day after class and throws her bag at him on the way to the kitchen. He catches it and wonders if she honestly thinks he's a piece of furniture or something 'cause WTF.

"Don't we have any beer?" She yells it from the other room, and he rolls his eyes and goes to the kitchen. He lets her bag fall on the floor and doesn't feel too bad about it.

"Did you buy any?" He leans against the doorframe and just looks at her.

"No."

"Then I guess we don't have any." She gives him this hateful look, but what? He's not old enough to buy alcohol, and she knows it. He can't just go pick up a six pack at the bodega down the block because there's a giant sign that says **We ID **in big, bold letters. "Text Britt and tell her to get some."

Santana grabs the last Diet-Coke and pops the tap on her way past him. "You text her. I have to get ready for work."

"I thought you were off til Thursday?"

"Extra shift." She goes into her bedroom and doesn't bother shutting the door before she pulls her shirt over her head. "That stupid slut hostess called in, so I get to cover."

"What time do you get off?"

"Eleven. Supposedly." She's down to her underwear, and maybe it's weird that he's just standing there talking to her, but all modesty kind of went out the door in this apartment a long time ago.

"Can you pick me up?" His car's in the shop, and he's just been getting rides from people at work.

"Are you going to be ready?"

"I can probably be done by like 11:30." It's a Monday, so it won't be crowded. He can slip out earlier than usual.

Santana rolls her eyes and pulls her shorts up her hips. "Fine. But hose off first. I don't want skank germs all over my car."

…

He goes to bed with Brittany and wakes up alone.

He hates that. He hates when she gets up in the middle of the night to pee or something and ends up climbing into bed with Santana. He gets it, okay? They have to share. It's about Brittany- it's not about him and Santana. Well, it's kind of about them, but like on the outside. Brittany's the one in the middle, _she's _the one that holds them together.

It's five o'clock, and he's really only been asleep a few hours. But he's awake now, so he might as well be productive, and a run sounds like a really good idea right now.

It's March, so it's still cold. It's also really dark outside, which doesn't help with the whole warming up thing. So he pulls on some sweats and heads out with his iPod. Santana's door is closed, and he kind of glares at it on the way out, like it can see him or holds some kind of blame or something.

Sometimes he's allowed to be dumb and hate on a door, okay?

…

"Do you like blue better? Or green?" Brittany has two different shirts laid out on the bed, and she's staring at them carefully like this is a super important decision or something.

"Blue. Matches your eyes."

"Green matches yours, though." She smiles at him, this really pretty smile that makes her look younger than she is and always kind of hits him in the gut.

"So you should definitely go with blue because yours are way better."

She sits down in his lap with both of her legs straddling his thighs so she can wrap her hands around the back of her neck. "You're super cute."

"Yeah, that's what my momma tells me."

Brittany smiles again and then puts her chin on his shoulder. "I wish you could go with me."

"To a _dance audition? _You are trying to actually _get _it, aren't you?"

She lets out a little sigh. "You make me not nervous."

"You don't have anything to be nervous about. You're perfect."

She pulls back a little and then pecks him on the lips. "I'm going to wear green."

…

Brittany gets the job.

It's some local rapper's debut music video, and it's probably super low budget and won't be seen anywhere besides YouTube. But still. It's awesome.

All three of them go out to dinner to celebrate, and the server kind of smiles at him and says, "Aren't you lucky to be out with two beautiful women?"

If she only knew.

"So, what? You're gonna be shaking your ass all over some random and getting paid for it?" Santana breaks a breadstick in half and dips it into the marinara while she eyes Brittany.

"I guess. I don't really know."

"That's okay, babe." Santana shrugs and takes a bite of her bread. "Your boyfriend shakes his ass all over like a hundred randoms every night. It's cool."

Sam almost leaves it alone, but he can't help himself. "Yeah, and I'm pretty sure my ass is paying for that shit you're stuffing your face with right now, isn't it?"

It's like slow motion when she puts the breadstick down. "Did you just call me fat?" He didn't, but whatever. He just looks at her. "Do you really want me to stab you?" and he doesn't miss that she's literally tapping her knife while she talks. "Because I will."

Brittany interrupts them. "I think we should get a puppy."

That's random. Sam looks at her, and she smiles at him. Santana, though, is totally against it and immediately says, "No fucking way."

So obviously Sam says, "We should!" because he's happy to say anything that might piss her off at the moment.

He'll just make sure to lock his door tonight.

…

They get a puppy, and Brittany names him Billy- "after Hillary Clinton's husband."

He's some kind of mix, but they don't really know for sure what. Maybe Jack Russell and beagle. They get him from the shelter, and the lady who helps them with the adoption paperwork says he's probably about eight weeks old. He's super cute, though- little and just adorable. And even Santana can't deny that.

They all spend the first few days obsessed with him, cuddling up with him and playing puppy games. He's a good dog and really sweet, but cleaning up puppy accidents gets old really fast.

But when Santana yells at Billy for peeing on one of her schoolbooks, Brittany grabs him away and says, "You're not allowed to be mean. He's a baby."

And Sam tries not to feel too smug when she curls up beside him on the couch and puts the puppy in his lap.

…

He's really used to random women touching him in all kinds of inappropriate places. It kind of goes with the whole stripping territory. Normally it doesn't even faze him, but sometimes he has to like kind of put a limit on it. It sucks because killing the fantasy also kills the tips, but sometimes it's too much.

Like this one chick who's drunk off her ass and obviously has the worst friends in the world because they aren't even _trying _to make sure she doesn't hurt herself or humiliate herself. She grabs him and pulls him down to her lap, and he doesn't fight her or whatever because she's got a handful of cash and seems totally into shoving it down the front of his shorts. He doesn't care where she shoves it to be honest because money is money, and cash is the best kind. He lets her get in some groping and kind of grinds into her because he can tell she's totally into it. But then she decides that she can leave her hand down there and starts getting too friendly. He tries to be nice and joke around and just tell her it's not that kind of party but that if she _wants _that kind of party, he can find her somebody.

But she doesn't want _somebody. _She wants _him, _and when she's shoving her tongue in his mouth, he kind of gets that. One of her dumbass friends is snapping pictures on a camera phone, and Sam has to try to get out of her clutches as gently as possible, which is kind of hard considering she's still got one hand on his junk and the other in his hair.

"Hey." He manages to get out of the kiss, and he smiles at her because it's his job. "Hey, baby. I don't do that, okay?"

He can't tell her he has a girlfriend. He can't ruin _the illusion. _It's all about the illusion. You have to appear available even if you're not. He has to keep up the illusion despite the fact that he's got a girlfriend, and more than half the dudes he works with have to keep up the illusion, too, despite the fact that they have _boyfriends. _That's the job. Keep the girls happy. Keep them thinking that all their fantasies could somehow be realities. Keep them coming back.

This chick is super drunk. She's seriously slurring her words when she moves her hand a little bit and says, "Please let me suck your dick," in this totally serious voice.

She looks about his age, maybe a year or two older at most. He feels sorry for her because he knows she's way too drunk to be doing anything besides sleeping right now. But he still grabs her wrist and manages to get her hand off his goods. "You want me to get you some water?" he asks gently. "Or some nachos?" He looks at her friends who all seem to think it's hilarious. He doesn't know what this is- a sorority, somebody's 21st birthday… whatever it is, they need to stop. "I think she needs some water."

"She said she wants to suck you off," one of her friends (also drunk) giggles. "Why don't you let her?"

Sam manages to stand up, and the girl looks like she might literally fall over and out of her chair when he moves. "Okay, I'm gonna check with the bar… Because I think y'all might need to be cut off."

He doesn't care that all the girls look pissed off at that. Yeah, he's probably missing out on money, but some of these chicks, maybe all of them, have obviously had way too much to drink, and it _is _the club's responsibility to watch out for that kind of stuff.

But seriously, he hates girls who don't look out for each other.

…

By the time he gets home that night, the last thing he wants to do is unlock his front door and immediately hear moans coming from a bedroom that definitely doesn't belong to him.

It's not his bedroom, but it _is _his girlfriend.

He can hear her loud and clear, and even though he's supposed to be okay with all this, he really, _really _fucking hates it right now. He can hear Santana, too- quieter, but definitely there. He doesn't want to think about what that means.

There's nothing at all about it that he finds hot. He knows lots of dudes probably think he's crazy and would pay a ton of money to be in his situation, but whatever, they don't know what it's really like. It's not two hot straight girls on a porn, pretending to be lesbians so guys can get off to it. It's real life. That's his _girlfriend _having sex with somebody else.

Male, female, alien- _whatever- _it's still his girl moaning because somebody else's tongue is on her. There's nothing sexy about that. Not even a little bit.

Sometimes he gets jealous. _A lot _of times he gets jealous. He loves Brittany, okay? And he's not with anybody else, so sometimes it's kind of hard that she _is _and that there's literally nothing but a wall separating him from her having sex with somebody else. He doesn't love his situation, but it is what it is. He does ti because he loves _her, _and _she _loves _Santana. _

He goes to his room and shuts the door and turns his TV up too loud because he doesn't want to hear what's going on in the next room. And he also wants them to know that he's home, so maybe they'll tone it down half a notch or something. Probably not, but it's worth a shot. He knows his neighbors are probably pissed because there's a rerun of Roseanne blaring from his TV at one o'clock in the morning, but screw it.

They don't have to live here.

…

He doesn't like Brittany's costume for the music video.

It's basically underwear, and he doesn't need to guess what she's going to be doing in it. He doubts very much that _Master Krumpkin _has any elaborate choreography in his video. She's probably literally going to be shaking her ass on him and in the camera, and seeing that she's going to be wearing basically nothing doesn't make him feel great.

"It's kind of revealing…" He has a flash of his little brother looking up the video on YouTube to see Britt and literally getting an eyeful.

"I think it's cute." Brittany's showing it off for him and Santana, and she does a little spin right in front of the coffee table.

"You look hot." Santana says it, and Sam wants to throw something at her because she _should _be on his side, and she's not really helping much. It's not like she's _lying. _Brittany does look hot. She _is _hot. Her body is like totally ridiculous, and there's nothing about her current outfit that hides any of that.

But still. _Girlfriend._

"But it's like… _underwear." _He doesn't know how else to explain it.

Brittany looks kind of hurt or something, and Santana takes that as her cue to jump right in and make him feel like a dumbass. "Oh, please. You're really going to sit there and try to give her shit when you get paid to swing your junk in people's faces? At least she's wearing _something._"

He doesn't have a comeback. She's right, but what the hell ever. It's different. He's a guy, and Brittany's a girl, and it's different. He knows better than to say that, though. Santana's like _queen _of feminism when it benefits her (although she definitely doesn't mind using her own boob job to get tips at the sports bar). She'd rip him a new asshole if he even _tried _to explain it like that, and he doesn't feel like being made into the bad guy.

So he shuts up and goes to get a beer from the kitchen. Santana yells after him to bring one for them, too, but he pretends not to hear it.

She can get her own damn beer.

…

His parents know his living situation. Well, they know that he lives with Brittany and Santana.

They think it's just him and his girlfriend and his girlfriend's best friend, though. They don't realize that she's also Santana's girlfriend and that she has sex with each of them on a regular basis. They also don't know that he's a male stripper. They think he works at overnight call center and that's why his schedule is so weird. It's all super planned out. He can't just tell them he works at a bar or a restaurant or something because he doesn't need them trying to drop in on him at work in case they ever happen to visit.

He doesn't know what they'd think. Well, he _does, _and they wouldn't be thrilled. His family's super conservative, and he's pretty sure sharing your girlfriend with another girl and being paid to take your clothes off goes against several different things in the Bible. So it's better to just not tell them and let them live in oblivion.

Look, he's a Christian, okay? And he very much believes in God and Jesus and the Bible and all of it, but he also knows that a lot of Christians wouldn't agree with his life. His parents are semi-tolerant, but this would be too much, and he'd rather just keep the peace. He loves his family, and he doesn't want them to judge him because while he's able to ignore most people's judgments, he really cares what his family thinks. And he just knows they wouldn't support this or get behind it. They already have a hard enough time accepting the fact that he's living with and having sex with a girl he's not married to.

That's enough for now.

…

"Sam!"

Santana's yelling at him from her bedroom, and he's still in bed so fuck her. Like seriously.

She keeps screaming, though. "Sam!" And he finally just rolls his eyes and gets up because she's not going to stop until he goes and finds out what the hell she wants.

"What?"

"Oh, Jesus Christ, grouper grin, put some clothes on. Nobody wants to see all that."

He ignores her. If she wants him to wear clothes, she needs to not scream at him while he's asleep. "What do you want?"

"There's a spider in here."

"So?"

"So. Kill it."

He rolls his eyes because is she even for real? "Why can't you kill it?"

"You're the man. Aren't you supposed to do this shit?"

This is a perfect example of the fact that Santana only plays the feminist card when it benefits her. "I don't like spiders."

"Stop being such a pussy. It's on the dresser."

He could argue with her, or he could just do it and shut her up. He purposely picks up one of her favorite shoes and ignores her when she screams at him to use something else. He almost doesn't even see the spider, but then he nudges some stuff around and sees it run down the side of her dresser. Luckily, he's got pretty good reflexes because he aims while it's mid-sprint and actually smashes it.

"There." He drops her shoe on the floor and doesn't bother to clean up the bug guts that are currently smeared on the bottom of it and the side of her dresser.

Santana doesn't seem as bothered as he really wants her to be. Instead, she just stands up and kicks the shoe back to the corner. "Get dressed. Let's go to the gym."

He's literally only been asleep for a few hours, but he's awake now. Anyway, Santana is a good gym partner because she goes at everything hardcore and can usually entertain him.

So, okay.

…

He's getting really used to Billy, and he kind of totally digs snuggling up in bed with him and Britt.

Santana's at work, so it's just the two of them, and they're watching a movie in bed with the puppy curled up against Brittany's side. She's got a bag of Sour Patch Kids, and they're simultaneously rotting their teeth out and filling up on empty calories, but they're addicting, okay?

"I don't get this movie." Brittany picks through the bag until she finds a red one. "If everybody knows they're zombies, why don't they just kill themselves and stop the outbreak?"

"They don't know they're zombies. Zombies can't think."

"But they have all those extra brains, though."

"But they're not like normal brains." He grabs three pieces of candy at once. "Like they can't think with them. Zombies don't have feelings or thoughts anymore after they turn."

Brittany squints at the TV where a formerly twelve year old zombie is now stalking her own mother. "That doesn't make sense."

"It's just how it is. Zombie rules."

"Who made up the zombie rules?"

He shrugs and puts a red Sour Patch Kid to her lips. "I guess whoever made the first movie."

"But this could really happen, couldn't it?"

"Probably. Yeah, I think so."

Brittany frowns and rubs Billy between the ears before she rolls over and lays her head on Sam's stomach. "Don't ever eat my brain, okay? No matter what. I'll never eat yours."

"Deal."

…

It's his twenty-first birthday, and that means he's getting wasted one way or another.

Brittany and Santana drag him out to a 21 and up club, and some of their friends come out, too. Santana knows some people from school who come out, and Sam's met them enough times to think they're pretty cool people. Brittany brings these two girls from the dance studio where she works, and some of the dudes Sam works with come out, too- the ones that aren't working tonight anyway. Mike comes, too, of course, with his fiancé, and Sam hasn't seen him in awhile, so that's awesome.

Mike's been in Chicago the whole time, but he's pretty busy because he actually has a steady gig with the City Ballet. At first Sam thought that was kind of weird because he didn't really realize that Mike did real dance, like ballet and stuff- he just always thought he was more of a street dancer or whatever. But he was wrong. Apparently Mike can do anything because he's _awesome. _Sam's not all that into ballet or whatever, but he's seen his show a couple of times, and he's freaking ridiculously good. He's engaged to this dancer from his company, and they live in a pretty upscale area of the city because they're apparently doing pretty well for themselves or whatever. Caroline's super nice, just a little shy. Mike loves her, though, and she's good for him, so it's a pretty good set up.

Mike's the one who buys the first round of shots for the whole group, and Sam already knows he's going home drunk so he doesn't really bother trying to pace himself. Santana says she'll stay "mostly sober," so he's not worried about getting home or anything, and really he just wants to be shit-faced. So when people start throwing shots to him and buying him drinks all over the place, he just takes them and says thanks.

Brittany is down with the plan, too, and seems determined to keep up with him. It's cool, though, because she's being super handsy, and he isn't as embarrassed as he probably should be. And when she's in his lap making out with him, he kind of forgets about the fact that they're in public until Santana makes a point to set her beer down on the table too hard and loudly. She's giving them both shitty looks, and he's not drunk enough to be confused as to why. They're all over each other, and that's kind of against the unspoken rules of the house that state you're not supposed to do this shit with the other one around.

But fuck it, it's his birthday. He can do what he wants.

All it does is make him push Brittany out of his lap and then grab her hand and pull her back to the area where the bathrooms are. It's crowded back here with drunk girls stumbling around to check their makeup and dudes with the beer pisses. But whatever. He just wants to be alone with his girl, away from _her _girl, and if he has to make out with her against the wall between the men and women's bathrooms, then that's what he has to do.

"You look so hot." He looks down at her boobs and takes in the view. Her shorts are barely there, and her legs look even longer than usual. He really wants to be bending them back over her head right now (dating a dancer is awesome, by the way), but since they're in public, he'll settle for a little bit of grinding action and her tongue in his mouth.

It sucks when they have to stop and go back to the group, but if they _don't _stop, they might end up in jail or something, so it's probably the smart decision. They get back to their table, and Santana's still looking pretty pissed off. Mike's talking to her, but she seems to be doing her best to actively ignore him.

"Let's go to the bar!" Brittany's screaming, but the music's loud, and he's drunk enough to not think it's weird. She's still got his hand and drags him that way, along with Mike and Caroline and Santana and half the group. They all start ordering drinks, but then Britt leans across the bar and yells for the bartender and everyone else around to hear. "It's my boyfriend's twenty-first birthday!"

He manages to catch her when she goes to stand back up, and she giggles and throws both arms around his neck when everyone around them cheers. Apparently drunk people and bartenders love twenty-first birthdays, and he's not going to complain. The bartender slams some random shot down in front of him and tells him it's on the house, and Sam realizes how drunk he actually is by the fact that it doesn't even burn in the slightest when it slides down his throat.

Brittany kisses him as soon as he swallows it, and everything is kind of perfect.

…

He's puking when he wakes up.

Like literally, he opens his eyes and just barely turns his head fast enough to aim for the trashcan beside his bed. His head feels like it's about to literally split open, and he hates the fact that the sun is up and that there's so much damn _light _in his room.

"Are you okay…" Brittany's mumbling behind him, and when he finally stops puking long enough to roll onto his back, he can turn his head and see her.

She's still got both eyes shut, and her hair's a mess and her makeup's smeared all over her face. He wonders if her hangover's going to be as bad as his already is.

"I thought I heard the sound of desperate retching." Sam squeezes his eyes shut and tries to block out the sound of Santana's voice. She's standing in his doorway, and he needs her to go away. Like right now. "I'm not cleaning up your puke," she says blankly. "You're lucky I put that trashcan there last night."

He doesn't really remember all of last night. He doesn't remember coming home or going to bed or apparently getting naked with Brittany. Which sucks because he'd probably really like to remember that part.

"Don't ever ask me to take care of your drunk ass again." Santana's still talking, and he doesn't know why. "You're a lot heavier than you look."

He doesn't know what the hell she's talking about. He also doesn't care. He just wants her to get the hell out.

Today's going to _suck._

…

Brittany stays with Santana for six nights in a row.

It's not like she always goes back and forth between them every single night or anything, but six nights is a long time. He doesn't think he did anything wrong, and Britt's not really acting like anything's wrong. But it's weird that she's staying in the same bed for that long. Meanwhile, he's sleeping with the dog.

Brittany cooks dinner, and they all sit on the floor around the coffee table because it's the only level surface they've got that's not the floor itself. Sam sits on one side and tries really hard not to feel bad when Brittany sits on the other side with Santana curled up next to her. Brittany's playing with Santana's hair, and normally it wouldn't really bother him, but right now it just makes him self-conscious.

"I want to go to the beach." Brittany blows on her stir fry before she takes a bite. "We should go on vacation when Santana gets out of school."

Sam could do with a vacation, but he's not really sure they can afford it. Santana just smiles, though, and nods. "We should."

"I want to swim with the sharks. I saw this girl on TV do it. They didn't eat her or anything." Brittany looks over at Sam and smiles. "You'll swim with me, right?"

"I don't know about with sharks…"

"Yeah, that might not be safe," Santana says without missing a beat. "They might see your face and mistake you as their primary food source."

Brittany looks confused. "I didn't think trout lived in the ocean…"

This obvious amuses Santana greatly, and Sam just kind of ignores it because if he says anything, it's going to come off like he's pissed, which he is, but he doesn't want to give Santana the satisfaction.

…

He catches Brittany in the bathroom before bed.

Santana's in her room, and he sees Brittany go into the bathroom to get ready for bed. He follows her in there and shuts the door because he doesn't need anybody else eavesdropping. She looks kind of surprised or confused and says, "I need to pee. Are you going to watch me?"

He shakes his head and then just decides to say it. "Will you sleep with me tonight?"

"I told Santana I'd…" Her voice trails off because she can obviously tell from his face that he's hurt by what she hasn't even said yet.

"Please, Brittany." And he doesn't care if he sounds desperate. He misses her. "I just really want to sleep with you tonight."

"Okay…" She's looking at him weird. "Are you okay?"

He nods. "Yeah. I just miss you."

And she gives him that sweet little smile that makes him crazy. He misses it, too.

…

He comes home one day and almost literally gets knocked down because Brittany runs up to him and jumps on him.

He catches her, and she wraps her legs around his waist and kisses him, and he's really looking forward to where that might lead. "Santana got into law school!"

He's confused. Santana's already gotten like three different acceptance letters, so he's not sure why this one's any different. She's actually the one who clarifies, though, while she sits on her knees by the couch.

"I got off the waitlist for University of Chicago." She's all smiles, too, and he guess that must be a good thing. He doesn't know anything about law schools, but so far, University of Chicago was the only one she didn't outright get into. "They called me today and said I'm in!"

"Congratulations." He tries to sound like he means it, but he's not sure what the big deal. Unless it's a really good school or something. Or maybe she's just happy that it's in Chicago. Maybe both.

"We have to celebrate!" Brittany stands herself back and smiles big at both of them, and he has a feeling that he's going to be the one who ends up paying for this celebration.

But it's obviously a big deal, so he won't be a douche about it.

…

Santana does laundry for once and yells at him to come help her sort it when she gets back to the apartment.

Brittany's at dance class, so it's just the two of them, and at first everything is totally normal. They separate the clothes into three piles and then start folding them. It's the same thing they've done a hundred times before.

But then it all goes to shit.

Santana makes an off-handed comment about how she can't wait to graduate law school so they can move to the suburbs.

"I kind of like living in the city." Sam folds one of his own t-shirts and sets it aside. "It's fun."

"Well, you're welcome to stay." And she just _sounds _bitchy when she says it. "Britt and I will be happy in the burbs."

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I really don't think Brittany will go for that."

"That's because you don't really know her."

And he looks at her because seriously. What the fuck? "What's your problem?"

"My problem is you acting like your opinion matters when it doesn't."

"I get a say, too."

"No, you don't." Santana's looking at him like he's the biggest idiot in the world. "You still don't get it. _You. Don't. Matter."_

"Shut up." He doesn't know what's going on, but he's starting to get pissed.

"You don't matter," she says again, and she's talking so calmly that it makes it worse. "You're never going to win this."

"It's not a competition."

And then she laughs and rolls her eyes, and it makes him even angrier. "Of course it is! It's always been a competition, and you've always been the loser. Wake up, Sam."

"It's not up to you."

"No, it's up to Brittany. And she's always going to pick me. Always."

"You left her. You gave her up." It seems so long ago and so high school, but it seems really important right now.

"I gave her up so we could breathe. Not because I didn't want her."

"You gave her up so you could fuck other people."

"You don't know jack shit about it, so shut up."

He ignores her. "You gave her up so you could fuck other people," he repeats himself. "And then _she _wanted to fuck _me."_

"And she came right back to me. She always does. Because it's _me and her. _You were just the rebound, and now you're just the dick she thinks she needs for some ungodly reason."

"That's the real issue," and he calls her out because he's sick and freaking tired of dancing around. He's been dancing around it for almost two years, and it's time she got called on it. "You didn't care that she was dating somebody else. You cared that she was dating a _guy. _That's been your problem the whole time because you couldn't freaking _stand _it."

Santana's glaring at him like she might honestly cut him or something. She really might, but oh, well. "You're an idiot. The _only _thing you have to offer her is a dick, and she doesn't _need _that."

"Brittany loves me. Whether you like it or not."

"She _thinks _she does. But you're nothing, Sam. You're just the guy paying her bills right now."

"And yours." He raises his eyebrows at her and dares her to contradict him, but she just laughs again.

"It's not my fault you're stupid enough to do it."

"I'm not stupid."

Santana just shakes her head like he's pathetic or something. "Look, Sam. The sooner you realize it, the better. This isn't about you. It's about Brittany and Santana. It's _always _about Brittany and Santana."

"You're a bitch."

And she shrugs because she knows it's the truth. "You just don't get it. You're fine right now, but it's never going to last. _I'm _the one who can take care of her."

"_I _take care of her."

"In a few years, I'm going to be a lawyer. And you're going to be an aging stripper who's just one step closer to be pushed out of a job by somebody younger and hotter."

"Fuck you."

"No, thanks." She blinks at him. "Sam… One day you're going to get fat, and all of this is going to go away. And then you'll be flipping burgers at McDonald's because the _only _thing you've got going for you is your body. And that won't last forever."

"Fuck you." He feels a burning somewhere behind his eyes, and there's nothing but anger coursing through his veins. He wants to hit her, and he has to literally dig his nails into the palm of his hand to keep from doing it.

"Hate me if you want, but I'm just telling you the truth. Like I said, the sooner you realize it, the better."

He can't look at her for one more second, so he grabs his keys off the counter and leaves, slamming the door with as much force as he can manage.

She can go to hell.

…

Brittany begs him not to go. Literally begs.

She's sobbing with tears all over her face while she follows him around his room, grabbing his arm ad begging him to stop packing. "Tell me what I _did!" _

"You didn't do anything." He can't look at her because if he does, he's going to break. "But I'm not doing this anymore."

"But _why?! _Sam, I'm _sorry!"_

"Brittany, stop," he says quietly. "You can be with Santana."

"Why don't you love me anymore?"

"I _do _love you." He closes his eyes because this hurts way too much. "But I'm tired of doing this."

"Doing _what? _Tell me, and I'll fix it!"

"You'll leave Santana?" And he looks at her finally. She stops and just stares back at him with the saddest eyes he's ever seen. She doesn't say anything, and that's all the answer he needs. He just shakes his head and zips up his bag. "I can't."

"_Sam."_

He goes to his dresser and opens the top drawer where he keeps his money rolled into a sock. He hands it to her, and she takes it blankly and just stares at it. "Pay the bills." He can't make eye contact with her because it hurts too much.

"Sam…"

He should kiss her or something. One last dramatic kiss like always happens in movies. But he realizes how dumb that is. If he kisses her, he's never going to want to stop. She's his everything, and he can't drag it out like that.

So he just says, "I love you," in the lowest voice he can manage and then moves past her and out of his room. Santana's door is wide open, but she's not home. It's probably a good thing because he doesn't trust himself around her right now.

When he gets outside, he feels like he can finally breathe. He hasn't felt like that in a long time.

…

Mike and Caroline's apartment is way nicer than what he's used to.

They actually have hot water that works all the time, and the appliances in their kitchen were made in this century. They're being super nice, letting him stay and everything, and their couch isn't all that uncomfortable. He just feels kind of out of place- well, _really _out of place- because it's not his place, and he knows he's intruding even if they're being super nice.

He spills the whole thing to Mike, and he feels better after he tells somebody. Mike's always been a good friend and totally trustworthy. And he never judges, which is obviously something that's a rarity given Sam's particular situation. Plus, he knows all three of them- he knows Sam, he knows Santana, and he knows Brittany. He's friends with all of them, so he can actually give some kind of educated opinion.

"But Santana's right," Sam feels like crap, and he leans back against the couch cushions. "I'm never going to have anything to offer."

"Santana's right that you can't be a stripper forever." Mike shakes his head and shrugs. "But that's it. That doesn't mean you don't have anything to offer. Dude, Brittany loves you."

"She deserves better." He hates himself for saying it, but he's been struggling with it ever since the fight with Santana. "She needs somebody who can take care of her."

"Maybe both you guys, you and Santana… Maybe you should both stop focusing so much on who can take better care of Brittany and realize that she's a grown woman who can take care of herself."

Mike's right. Brittany can do anything. He just loves her and _wants _to take care of her. It sucks because he knows Santana feels the same way.

…

He's just waking up when he hears somebody knocking on the door.

Mike and Caroline are both gone to rehearsal, so he's home alone. He almost just ignores the door, but they knock again, so he gets up and answers it.

It's Brittany.

She's standing there looking sad and holding Billy up to her chest. He just looks at her, wondering what she's doing here. "Hi," she says quietly.

"Hey."

"I brought you Billy." She looks down at the top of the puppy's head and then looks back at Sam for half a second before breaking eye-contact. "He misses you. He hates watching The Price Is Right without you. His bidding sucks now."

She looks so pretty. And so sad. He hates that he's the reason she looks like that. "Brittany…"

"And I don't want you to be lonely." She hands him the puppy without actually looking at him and then sets a bag down on the floor. "There's food and his leash and his new Christina Aguilera Barbie. I found it in the dumpster."

He wants to hug her. Like hug her and never let go. But she leaves before he gets the chance. It hurts, watching her disappear down the stairs.

He wonders if that's how she felt when he left.

…

His mom tells him that he deserves better.

It's like a standard generic response or something- like one of those greeting cards that says, "May your holiday season be filled with cheer." Nobody puts any thought into those things when they sign them. Nobody sits there and thinks… _Hmm, Carl deserves to have an awesome holiday season, I hope it's filled with lots of cheer! _It's just BS, and his mom saying he deserves better is basically the same thing. That's what moms say- it's their job.

"I really love her." He's a total dork, but he's still kind of a momma's boy in a lot of ways. He still calls her every time his throat hurts so she can tell him what to do, and when he's at home, he still curls up against her on the couch because he likes the way she makes him feel. So it's not surprising that he wants his mom to tell him how to fix this, or at least to tell him how special he is or something.

What sucks is that he can't even tell her what happened. Not the truth anyway. He just told her that they broke up because they didn't have time for each other. It's almost as BS as her saying he deserves better, but oh, well. He can't tell her the truth.

"Sam, there are plenty of other girls out there for you to fall in love with. If it's not meant to be, it's not meant to be."

This is totally not the helping he was expecting. "How do you know if it's not meant to be?"

"If you can think of more reasons why you shouldn't be together than reasons why you _should, _it's probably not meant to be."

He doesn't have a list and doesn't intend on making one. But he needs somebody to understand how much all of this hurts. He didn't know it would feel like this. He's broken up with girls before, but it's never felt like _this. _

"She's the best thing I've got. Except I don't have her anymore…"

"Sam. You're young. You've got plenty of time to find that girl you want forever. Brittany's sweet, but if things aren't working, you can't _make _them."

He wants to tell her that she doesn't understand, that there's no way possible she could even begin to comprehend what's not working in their situation. But he can't.

And that's what sucks the most.

…

He should get drunk and have a random hookup. That's what the dudes at work say. Mike says maybe he should just chill out and "reflect" for awhile. Caroline offers to set him up with one of her dancer friends. It's all too much.

He doesn't want to do any of that.

He doesn't want some one-night stand with a random girl he meets in a bar. He doesn't want to sit at home alone and wallow in his pain. And he doesn't want to go on a blind date with a ballerina. All he wants to do is go to work, come home, sleep, watch some TV, play a few video games, and then do it all over again.

So that's what he does. For two straight weeks, he just carries on his life totally normally, except for the fact that he doesn't have a girlfriend and is sleeping on a friend's couch. There also the fact that he's totally fucking miserable, but he's trying really hard not to dwell on that.

It occurs to him that without Brittany, there's absolutely no point in him being in Chicago. He came here for her. He doesn't have a career here or family here or even very many friends locking him in place. He could go back to Kentucky and live with his parents or go some place totally random like North Dakota or something. At this point it doesn't matter.

But there's no point in him being here.

It sucks, though, because he doesn't have much money, and it's kind of hard to go somewhere with no cash to back it up. He's trying to save as much as he can from work, but he's definitely going in on rent and bills even though Mike tells him not to worry about it. He also has to make sure the bills at his old apartment get paid, too, because his name's on the lease and the electric. He also just has to make sure Britt's okay, even if they're not together.

He misses her in like every single way possible, and it literally feels like he's dying inside. He doesn't know what to do with himself, and all he can focus on is the fact that Santana was right. He's useless. He has no real skills, no real _anything. _

Brittany was the only thing he had, and now he doesn't even have her.

…

He's actually having a decent night at work.

The money's good, and the women are just fun tonight- not sloppy drunk and too handsy like happens a lot. They're just playing with him, so he plays back to them, and it all benefits his cash flow. He's so used to all of it by now that the stripping doesn't really faze him. He doesn't feel self-conscious or embarrassed anymore. It's about the money, and that's it.

And tonight happens to be a good one.

He's counting money in the dressing room when one of the other dancers comes up and tells him that he's got a visitor outside. That means one of two things- either it's somebody he actually knows or it's some random offering up a significant amount of money to get one-on-one time. It's one of his semi-friends, though, so he doubts it's some bogus offer or he wouldn't even bother telling him about it. And whatever, money is money, and if he ever wants to get the hell out of this city, he needs to make as much as possible. So he goes.

He gets to the stage door that leads back to the hallway, though, and what he sees doesn't exactly thrill him.

"I'd give you a dollar or something, but I've seen it all before for free."

"What are you doing here?"

Santana's standing with her back to the wall and her arms crossed over her chest. She's chewing on her lip and doesn't seem overly-thrilled to be here. "You need to come home." She says it like she's ripping a band-aid off or something, but he doesn't care because he doesn't want to listen to her.

"Santana, can you just leave me alone? I'm at work. Like seriously, can you just leave?"

"You think I _wanted _to come here? Fuck, I feel like I'm splashing in a puddle of STDs every step I take. But you haven't been at the gym, and I don't want to talk about this in front of Mike and Caroline. So here I am."

He rolls his eyes and seriously thinks about calling security to come throw her out because really. What the hell is she doing here?

"You need to come home," she says again, ignoring the way he's rolling his eyes. "She misses you."

"You won, Santana," and he's glad nobody else is really around to hear all this. "You got what you wanted. Now just _please _leave me alone."

"I don't want Brittany to be sad. You make her not sad. So…" She shakes her head like she's trying to come up with something else to say. "So I'm sorry. Shit. Just whatever, okay?"

He gets the feeling that this might actually be the first time she's ever apologized for anything in her whole life, but it doesn't make it better. He gave her what she wanted, so why the hell is she bothering him?

"You wanted me gone, and now I'm gone. Brittany will get over it, and then you two can live happily ever after." He feels like he's spitting the words out because he's seriously so pissed off. He doesn't know what she wants out of him, but he's not willing to give it to her. Whatever it is.

"She loves you." She's suddenly a lot quieter, and he can tell she's being serious. "And I love her. So… I want her to be happy."

"So make her happy."

And then she's giving him a little glare again, but he doesn't care that much. "It's just hard to deal with. You of all people should know that."

He does. He knows it's really freaking hard to deal with. Loving somebody and watch them love somebody else. But they all knew what they were getting into from the start.

"She needs us both." Santana lets out a little sigh. "Please just come home and fix this."

He just looks at her. There's no way she knows how bad these past couple of weeks have been. He feels like his whole life is turned upside down, and a whole lot of it is her fault.

"Please, Sam." And now her voice is so quiet that he _knows _she's telling the truth. "She cries all the time." He doesn't want to hear that. He doesn't want to think about Brittany crying. "She says she just wants her family back…"

He wants to tell her no. He wants to tell her that this is what she wanted, so deal with it. But he can't because there's a part of him that feels just like Brittany.

He wants his family back, too.

…

It's complicated.

He's got two girls. They're his in different ways, but they're both his. And he's theirs, in different ways. They're a family. Not a traditional one or whatever, but they make it work. They have to because none of this is easy.

It's nice to be home. Brittany's on the floor with her back leaned against his legs, and she and Santana are playing Keep Away with a tennis ball while Billy runs back and forth between them. They're both laughing, and he can't help but feel like this is how everything's supposed to be. Brittany's happy. He and Santana are happy enough. They're a family.

And yeah, maybe it's complicated, but it's also really special.

…

A/N: Please don't leave hate. If you have something constructive to say, I'd really appreciate it if you hit the review button. Thanks!


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